Echoes
by Ameraka
Summary: Now that Will and Gray have been captured, Odyssey can finally get back to normal. But Jason cannot, no matter how much he may want to, forget the trauma of his past. Will Connie be able to help him this time? Or will his memories overtake him and plunge his mind into darkness?* Final story in the series starting with Fallout. Though I may reference this timeline in the future.
1. Chapter 1

Jason walked into his apartment, Connie's arm in his. His vision wavered; he staggered. She caught his arm, helped him over to the couch. "Are you okay?" she said, eyes full of concern.

He leaned his head in his hand, trying to catch his breath. "I'm okay. That was a pretty long walk, and the heat didn't help any."

"I'm sorry! I should've asked if you wanted to go back but I wasn't thinking and—"

"It's okay, Connie. It's good for me to push myself."

"I don't know about that. It's only been a week since you got out of the hospital."

"You haven't been out of the hospital long either."

"But I only got knocked out. You got knocked out twice and—I'm sorry. You don't want to think about that."

He looked up. "I don't want to hide from what happened. That was part of the problem last time. I let hatred build up inside of me until it touched everything I did, and I didn't even realize it. It even hurt my relationship with you. I kept things from you. I thought I could handle Gray. Fix things. Instead—" He shook his head. "I can't hide from the things I did either."

"I know, Jason." She touched his cheek, ran her hand gently down to his chin. "But for now, I think we should forget about it, at least for a little while. We've got a movie to watch."

"It looks like a good one."

"We'll see about that. It looks a little too action-y to me."

"It was my turn. You made me watch—what was that, Letters to a Notebook or something?"

Connie just laughed and stepped into the kitchen. "What do you want—water, lemonade, Mountain Dew?" The sound of the fridge suctioning open. Clinks of cans and jars.

"I'll get it." He tried to get up; pain stabbed his side where the knife had seared into his skin.

"Don't you move. I'll get it."

He gave in. "Water's fine."

"Ice?"

"If there is any."

She came back in with a glass of water complete with ice cubes, and a can of Mountain Dew for herself, which she set on the coffee table. "I've got to try to stay awake for this thing."

"I don't see how you could fall asleep to a World War Two movie."

"We'll see." She picked up the DVD, pulled it out of its Netflix sleeve. "Are you sure you want to watch this? It's about war, it might remind you of—"

"I think I can handle it. I've always been able to tell the difference between fiction and real life."

"Just so you're sure." She leaned down and slipped the DVD in, then sat down beside him.

The movie started out a little slow—it had to introduce the love interest, of course—but once the spy got sent on his mission the excitement built.

Connie leaned closer to him as it got more intense; he took advantage of this to press his hand over hers. She laced her fingers through his and smiled at him, the light from the screen flashing across her face, her eyes mysterious in the dark.

He brushed her hair back from her face, slid his hand over her cheek to bury his fingers in her hair, drew her to him, gently. He kissed her cheek; her eyelashes fluttered against his skin. Kissed her chin—and there were her lips, slightly parted, inviting invasion-

He kissed her slowly. She grasped the back of his neck; the kiss intensified—

It was his love for her which stopped him. This was their first real kiss out of the hospital, and being so long away from each other had made him forget everything but that she was here beside him, and there was nothing between them, not even that much pain.

He pulled away; the force of their bond protested.

"We haven't really decided on boundaries since the hospital," he said.

She turned away, leaned her arms on her thighs. "After the bomb, all the rules kind of got thrown out the window."

"For now, maybe it's best to stay on the safe side. It's not like this—" he took her hand in his—"is so bad. Or this—" He kissed her on the cheek.

She laughed. "Let's get back to the movie. Looks like it's at one of the few good parts."

Still holding hands, they turned their attention to the movie again. Contrary to what Connie had said, it was at a slow part again. Romance was okay in real life, but in movies, it made him either disgusted or uncomfortable.

Finally the hero jumped back into action, dodging bullets that zinged past him like a superhuman. _This is getting a little too ridiculous_, he thought_. In real life, he'd have been hit a long time ago. _

And then—it got a little too realistic. A bullet caught the spy, slamming into his leg. He fell to the pavement, writhing in pain. When the Nazis came out of the shadows, he tried to grab his gun, but the leader stomped on his arm and a cry rent the night.

"You won't be needing that," said the leader in a cold voice.

They dragged the spy into a Gestapo prison and strapped him to a chair under a bright light. The leader bombarded him with questions, and when he didn't answer, the leader withdrew a knife, its metal blade singing into the air.

The past flashed across Jason's mind. He was back on that table, the knife carving fire into him, while Gray's cold voice sliced his soul into bright shreds of fading light.

He jumped up, tearing away from Connie's hand which held him prisoner. She said something like, "Maybe we should turn this off," but he barely heard. He retreated into the kitchen, leaned his palm against the cool wall, trying to shut out the memories but it flooded back to him, and Gray was attacking him again, tearing into him—

A creak on the floor behind him. He spun around to face his enemy. Grabbed his arm, forced him to his knees.

A shriek of pain.

Not the enemy, but Connie kneeling on the floor, cradling her wrist, tears spilling from her eyes.

Horror twisted through him.

_I hurt Connie. I hurt the one I love._

He knelt beside her, longing to take her in his arms, but he didn't trust himself to touch her. "Connie—I'm so sorry." The words were terribly inadequate. _I should have known it was her, after all, I'm not in a dark prison anymore, I'm in my home, this is supposed to be over—_

She shook her head. "I'm okay." Her voice was full of tears. "I shouldn't have come up behind you like that. I wanted to make you feel better but I only made things worse."

"It's not your fault. I shouldn't have let it affect me that way. I shouldn't let any of that affect me anymore. There's no excuse for…hurting you."

She held up her wrist. "See? No harm done. And Jason, I don't think you should be over it yet. After all you went through, I don't think either of us will be over it for a long time." She climbed to her feet and touched his shoulder. "Let's watch some videos on YouTube instead. I'll make us some popcorn."

He rose reluctantly, and followed her back into the living room. The screensaver was on; she'd stopped the movie. It hadn't mentioned the hero getting captured on the description; then again, if it had, it would have given away a major plot twist.

"I told you we shouldn't have watched that movie," she said. "Now if we'd rented Pride and Prejudice, we wouldn't have run into anything like that."

She could make light of it, but all he felt was weighed down by guilt. A shadow fell over the evening, and he had to force himself to be engaged in the videos she was showing him. His mind kept drifting back, going over and over what he had done. Was there any way he could make it right? How could he guarantee it wouldn't happen again, even with his best efforts to control his reactions? If something as innocuous as a movie could randomly trigger a reaction like this, what might he do in a more intense situation?

_Will it always be like this?_ he wondered. _I've forgiven Gray, but that doesn't mean I've forgotten. The imprint of what he did will always be on my mind. Will God ever heal me completely? Last time Connie helped so much, but this time…the fear runs even deeper. What if to be near her means the hazard of hurting her? Even one more time, physically or emotionally—I couldn't bear it. _

_If being whole again means at the expense of her pain, it cannot be worth it. Though she is the one I love, perhaps I am not the one for her after all. _

The thought filled him with such sorrow he cried silently beside her, hoping she wouldn't notice the tears slipping down his face in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Connie dragged the table over the spot where new tiles replaced the blackened, burned ones. Pain shot through her wrist; she gasped, let go of the table.

"Here, let me help you," said Whit, rushing over to her after coming from the kitchen. "That's too heavy to move by yourself."

"These are a lot heavier than they look."

"They don't really match the others either, but they were the best I could get at short notice. I don't think the kids will mind, especially if it means the shop opens up earlier than expected."

Connie nodded. "I think they'll just be glad to have Whit's End open again."

"This place has been closed too much over the years.

"Do you know if Jason is coming in this morning?"

"He said so, but—I don't know. He wasn't really himself last night. I'm kind of worried about him."

"Is he all right?"

"Yeah. I mean—he kind of…" She hesitated. "He just wasn't himself, that's all."

"Well, that's understandable. It's going to take a long time to get back to normal—for all of us, but especially for him."

"That's what I tried to tell him. But I'm not sure if he believes me." She rubbed her wrist; she'd thought it would go away during the night, but it had hurt more than she thought, especially trying to move those tables into position.

"Looks like a pretty nasty bruise. Can I see?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. She wasn't sure whether it was right not to tell him, but it seemed weird to tell him his son had done it. It hadn't been on purpose, after all; this was probably a one-time thing. As the memories faded, Jason would recover. She could hardly imagine the pain he'd gone through, but any way she could help him, she would.

The door swung open. Jason walked in, carrying a bundle of something in his arms. A huge bouquet of flowers, she realized as he got closer.

He handed them to her; she took them, inhaling their fragrance. "For me? These are beautiful, Jason. Thank you."

"They can't begin to make up for what I did, but… I thought they might help you feel better." As his eyes met hers, they were full of apology; he looked down, as if ashamed.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"What about?"

"In the kitchen."

"Sure. Would you mind waiting here, Connie?"

"No, I don't mind." She sat down next to the table, and watched Jason walk away with his father, leaving her alone with the flowers.

J

In the kitchen, Jason leaned back against the counter. When he'd handed Connie the flowers, he'd seen how bad the bruise on her wrist was. Now he knew that he couldn't just pretend this would go away. He had to tell his father.

"What is it, Jason?" said Whit.

"I…don't know how to say this. You saw the bruise on Connie's wrist?"

Whit nodded. "It looked like someone grabbed her. She didn't tell me what happened. I hope it wasn't that; I don't know how someone could do that to her."

"It was me."

"You!?"

Jason shook his head. "I can never say I'm sorry enough."

"It was an accident, wasn't it?" Whit said in a calmer voice, eyes searching him.

"Yes. Sort of. I –it's no excuse. We were watching a movie with…violence in it, and I couldn't take it. I went into the kitchen and she came up behind me. I didn't think, I just—forced her to her knees before I realized I wasn't in any real danger." He hung his head.

Whit was silent; Jason wished he would say something, tell him he was a terrible person for causing Connie pain.

"I know you'd never hurt her deliberately, Jason. You went through so much—it might be a long time before your mind heals completely."

"If I can't control it, what guarantee will I have that I won't hurt her again?"

"There are steps you can take. God can heal you, if you ask him."

"But just because he can, doesn't mean he will."

"That's true. He does have what is best for you in mind, though. And there are always professional—"

"You know I don't like that idea, Dad. I don't want to be scrutinized by someone who probably can't help me anyway."

"All right. But you did ask me for my opinion."

"I just—I want this all to be over. Right now. Will is in custody—Gray is gone—I've forgiven him. But it's not going away."

"It won't disappear like magic, I'm afraid. Even with a lot of help, it will be a long road to recovery. Even then—you'll never be the same again."

"Thanks a lot, Dad. -Sorry. I just—I can't bear the thought of hurting her. I can deal with the guilt, the memories, but when it comes to hurting someone I love, and not being able to stop it—what if there is no solution? What am I supposed to do?"

"I can't tell you what to do."

"I don't trust my own judgment."

"I think you need to give yourself more credit. Even after all that's happened, you know what's right. You know you need to act on it."

"Yeah. I was afraid you might say that. I just thought you might want to tell me outright what I should do. Like you do with the kids."

"I don't always do that. Sometimes they have to find out for themselves. And sometimes, the situation is so complicated and subjective it takes someone who is inside it to really know which direction to take."

"I think I do. I just...don't want it to come to that."

"What do you mean, Jason?"

"I don't want to say. Not unless—Could I take off? I don't think I should be around her right now."

"I hope you'll at least tell her why you're leaving."

"I will." He stepped back out of the kitchen and walked over to Connie. She stood when she saw him; her eyes, still so full of trust and love. He didn't deserve her.

"Connie," he said. "I have to leave."

"But you just got here. I thought you were going to help with the repairs."

"Later. I just…have to work out some things."

"I'll come with you."

He shook his head. "This I have to do on my own."

"But—Jason—"

He headed out the door, without looking back. To look into her beautiful eyes would hurt too much. Because he might never see them again.


	3. Chapter 3

As Jason walked through the forest, the whisper of the pine trees breathed peace into his spirit. For a moment, he forgot everything but the trees, the sky, the crunch of needles beneath his feet.

But he could not escape the reason he was here. He had to be alone, to think. There had to be a way. A way to be with her, and keep her safe.

_But how can I keep her safe from myself?_ he wondered. _There's no guarantee something like that won't happen again. And then there are the even deeper issues, which I have been avoiding._

He sat down on the forest floor, and leaned against a tree trunk. A crow cawed in the top of the tree; another crow answered, echoing from deep in the forest.

_I have so much in my past—how could I ever delude myself that I was the right person for her? She loves me, I don't know why. Her love helped heal me last time—but at what cost? It's not just this, it's the labyrinth, it's everything. She is so young and innocent and I am this old spy with lots of history and darkness to deal with. She has never been a part of that world. It's the reason she was good for me, but I'm not so sure the opposite is true. I will only drag her down. I will only dull her light, singe her wings. How selfish of me was it to cling to that relationship, knowing deep down that it was bad for her? It made me feel good, that was all that mattered. _

His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. _That is all I am good for, causing pain to others. I went so far as to hurt someone who was helpless—granted, he had tortured me first, but revenge is never a good reason for anything. All that I have done, I have done for selfish reasons_.

Part of him knew this was not true, but he had to harden himself to his decision. Talk himself into doing what he knew he had to do.

_It's not so bad_, he told himself. _I don't like sticking in one place for too long. I can be free, I can go where I want without any responsibilities—_

Another part of him remonstrated that this was a bad idea, but he shut that voice down as well. He had to steel himself, numb any emotions that had to do with her. For her own good, he knew he had to leave Odyssey.

Not forever. Just long enough to work things out. And then, maybe, if she still wanted him—

But no. She would have to move on. She would want to move on, once she saw how futile this relationship really was.

The bottom line was that to continue this way, knowing that he might hurt her, would be to willingly put her in an abusive relationship.

He was not going to have that on his conscience.

End of story. End of discussion.

_Stop struggling against the inevitable—you're only making it harder. _

_You have to say goodbye. _

He rose, preparing to go back, firm in his decision. And then—everything over the past few months rolled over him like a wave, catching him breathless. Anger, fury, bitterness and sorrow burned through him and he lashed out, kicking the only thing in the vicinity—the tree. He hit it, attacking it with feet and fists as if it were the enemy personified—himself.

He screamed, the sound, raw with pain, echoing into the silence of the forest.

He fell to his knees, his knuckles bloody from the pine bark, his whole body aching. He leaned his forehead in the pine needles, and wept.

J

Connie knocked on the door to Jason's apartment. She'd called his number, but he hadn't answered. Terror raced through her as she wondered what had happened to him. Whit had given her his key and she opened the door after her knocks yielded no results.

She stepped inside. At first glance, everything looked normal, although a little more messy than usual. Some things were missing from the counter. Off the bookshelf. And in his bed room—

The drawers were open. Clothes scattered all over the floor. Panic gripped her; she wondered if he'd been kidnapped again. But kidnappers would not have taken the suitcase. He had left in a hurry, but why?

She looked in his office. On the desk where his laptop usually sat lay a handwritten note.

_Dear Connie, _

_I love you. I always will. That is why I have to do this. I can't bear the thought of hurting you again, even if it is an accident. To stay here, knowing what I might do, is too much risk. I can't ask that sacrifice of you. You're too good, too brave, too beautiful and full of light and life. I can't darken that. I'm sorry if I'm causing you pain even now, but it will be better in the end. Please try to let go of your love for me. I'm not its most worthy object. _

_Love, _

_Jason_

She grabbed the letter, felt like tearing it apart. How dare he do this? How dare he run off and leave her alone? She crumpled up the letter and stuffed it in her pocket.

And then the tears came.

_He can't be leaving me. Jason, please don't leave!_ She sobbed, throwing couch pillows across the room. Throwing books, which almost hit the TV. When one hit the lamp, knocking it over with a crash, she stopped.

This wasn't helping anything.

What would help? What mattered, now that he was gone?

_Maybe,_ a voice in her mind suggested, _he isn't gone yet. Maybe you can catch him. _

_But how do I know where he is?_

_If he's still anywhere near Odyssey, he'd probably be at the airport. _

Snagging this small piece of hope, she dashed out of the apartment, jumped in her car, and sped toward the edge of town, brimming with determination.

_ I will get him back if it's the last thing I do. _


	4. Chapter 4

_I am posting this chapter the same day I posted Chapter 3 because I already have this written. This is as far as I have written though, and it might be the end, though I could add more to it. I kind of want to move on since it's been such a harrowing journey for our characters, but I also want to be realistic, and Jason would have a lot of issues to deal with after what he's gone through. A lot more could happen, and probably will, but I'm not sure if I will write it or not._

* * *

Jason walked down the concourse, pulling his suitcase. He had blocked all feeling off, and now he was basically numb, though a whole river of emotion pressed against the dam he'd carefully constructed in his mind.

He sat down to wait for his flight. He hadn't known where to go; he just had to go somewhere. He'd booked a flight to Chicago; by the time he got there, he'd figure out where to go next.

Feeling faint, Jason leaned his head in his hand. He realized he hadn't eaten anything all day; when he'd bought Connie flowers he hadn't thought about stopping for breakfast. Sharp stings awakened beneath his bandages. He looked in his carryon suitcase for his pills. None in any of the pockets. He zipped open the main compartment with his clothes in it, knowing he hadn't put it in there.

He looked in his laptop case, just to make sure. Panic gripped him until he realized he'd have to just deal with it. Prescription painkillers were a luxury, after all. If he needed to, he could buy some aspirin or something.

He picked up a magazine, flipped through it. It was just some housekeeping magazine, but some of the pictures of food made him want to eat it. He considered buying something before the flight but didn't feel like expending the energy it would take to get up.

He flipped to the back of the magazine to avoid looking at food and stopped short. For a split second, _her _eyes were looking back at him. Then the face coalesced into someone else's, but the impression of her presence lingered. The soft curve of her face, the sparkle of her eyes, the playfulness of her smile. Longing stabbed him through the heart. He needed to be at her side, but he was leaving her. Emptiness pulled at him, inexorable as a black hole. Everything faded into the horrible shadow that his life would be without her. The ache in his heart burned into a deeper pain than he had ever known and he felt as if everything inside him was collapsing…

A touch on his shoulder. He jumped up, reached for a gun that wasn't there. Behind his chair stood a flight attendant, eyes wide with concern. "Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine." Self-conscious, he sat back down. _What is happening to me?_ he thought. _Will I ever be able to function in the real world again? Without her, it'll only get worse. But it's worth keeping my messed up mind away from her. I'll just have to deal with whatever happens, alone. _

The last call for his flight echoed through his head. He got up, barely able to move. Maybe this was a bad idea. He couldn't even take a step forward. It was like everything within him was telling him to stay.

_I am doing this for her. I just have to keep telling myself that. _

Armed with this thought, he handed the ticket to the flight attendant and stepped into the tunnel-like entrance to the plane.

"Jason!" said a voice. He turned to see someone running toward him through the crowd.

Connie.

He knew he should board the plane but he couldn't bring himself to turn his back on her. He stood there, frozen, as she made her way toward him. They asked for her ticket and when she didn't give them one, they stopped her, a wall of people surrounding her, obscuring her face. But he could still hear her calling for him.

Drawn to her voice, he found himself standing in front of her, back near the chairs, as if in a dream.

"Are you okay?" She reached out toward him, then hesitated, drawing her hand back as if not sure if he'd want to be touched.

"I'm okay. Connie, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have just left a note, but I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye face to face."

"You shouldn't say goodbye at all, Jason." She grabbed his hand, as if on impulse, and pulled him over to the chairs.

"Are you boarding, sir?" asked a flight attendant anxiously.

"No, he's not," said Connie. She looked at him. "Are you?"

He shook his head.

"Don't you realize that was a very selfish thing to do."

"I did it for you."

"No, you did it for you. You were afraid of hurting me, isn't that it? Your dad told me. We were both worried about you and I came over to your apartment to see you were gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"

"My…recovery isn't worth one moment of your pain, physical or emotional."

"We all have issues. We're all going to hurt each other, one way or another."

"But mine is…worse than your average issue."

"I know. Whit thinks you have post-traumatic stress-whatever. It is serious. But I want to be with you. I want to help. You forget—you were there for me. You rescued me. Let me be here to rescue you."

"It's different this time. Worse. Probably because I was captured _again_. I…can't really feel safe anywhere. If I stay here, I know I'll act out in some way. I can feel it—it's so deep I know it's not going away any time soon. I'll say something, do something—you don't want to be around someone like that."

She touched his face, gently. "It won't be easy for any of us. But you don't have to face this alone. Now I know not to sneak up on you anymore. And you can tell me things—or not tell me things. I can give you space if you need it—which I'm not the best at doing—but I can try."

"I can never forgive myself for what I did to you."

"But you didn't do it on purpose. You wouldn't. That's not the kind of man you are. I know you and I trust you, and it'll hurt me a lot more if you leave than anything you can do if you stay. If you left I'd probably take off on the next flight and try to find you."

"I wouldn't want that."

"No, you wouldn't. Because if I found you, I'd be so mad that—" She squeezed his hand. "Jason, I love you. That's all I can offer you—but if that's not enough, I'll understand." Her eyes were so full of sorrow he couldn't bear it.

"But…I'm not exactly the best person for you."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"What if I'm a lost cause?"

"You're my Jason. You'll never be a lost cause if I can help it." She put her arm around his shoulder; he let her draw him toward her. He still felt mostly numb; he didn't feel comfortable letting the dam of emotions break here, in the airport. He still had that amount of control left and he was going to cling to it.

But when her cheek brushed his, his resolve quivered. He had to get out of here, but he couldn't trust himself to move, let alone drive.

"Connie?" he said, voice barely audible.

"Yes, Jason?"

"Will you take me home?"

For a moment she didn't speak. A tear clung to her lashes; she blinked, and it fell. "Of course I will."

He laced his hand through hers; now that she had found him, he didn't want to let go of her, ever again.

Connie led him out of the airport into the evening, brilliant with sunset, gold-lined clouds billowing across the deep indigo sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Jason sat in a chair under a bright light, ropes strapping him down so he couldn't move. In the shadows, a figure moved, taunting the light. Then, he walked up to Jason, that deplorable smirk on his face. "I want you to tell me all of your secrets. Hold nothing back. Or you know what I will do."

Jason knew he couldn't give Gray his secrets. He said nothing, but he knew what that meant.

Gray slammed his face, chest and stomach with a merciless hailstorm of blows. Pain snapped into him like fire.

Finally Gray stopped, grabbed Jason's hair, forced his head back. "Will you answer?"

"No, I'll never do what you want!"

"Well, then."

Gray reached back into the darkness, and pulled something forward. A wheeled metal table. And strapped down on it—

Jason's heart wrenched. "Connie!"

She smiled. "I'll be okay, Jason."

Gray took a large serrated blade, and lowered it over Connie's leg.

Jason tried to tell him to stop but his voice was drowned out by Connie's screams—

Jason shot awake. He knelt on the bed, tears streaming down his face. With every breath, pain sliced through his chest and shoulder where the worst of his injuries were—almost as bad as it had been when Gray cut into him. He shook all over, sweat cooling on his skin.

Those were the worst, when Connie came into the dreams. He couldn't stand those. Sometimes the dream locked him into it and he couldn't even make himself wake up if he tried. The nightmares were only getting worse, not better, as time passed.

Jason sat back against the headboard, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to forget. But terror still raced down his veins, heartbeat thumping hard in his ears. He wrapped his arms around his knees, feeling fear of the dark he hadn't felt since he was a kid, the feeling that something was lurking in the shadows, watching him.

_Dear God, please help the fear go away. And help me not to descend back into hating Gray for doing this to me—because it's not just for what he did, but for what he's still doing…I can't get rid of this. It made me hurt Connie the other day, say something I didn't mean, only fueled by fear and pain boiling up from inside of me…._

_And I pray that you would protect Gray, wherever he is. Show him your truth. Give him comfort, Lord. And I pray for Sierra, that you would give her peace. Bring her to you._

Jason sighed; he felt better, as he did whenever he prayed, and the fear and residual resentment subsided. But he was still not calm enough to sleep. Thoughts raged through his head. He wondered where Sierra was. She'd probably left her old assignment far behind, and was now chasing a new target. In a way, Jason envied her, because she was free—free to move about the world, free from fear, free from the past he had to deal with every day—but no, that wasn't right. She wasn't free from fear, even if she seemed like she had mostly conquered it.

And Gray—if Sierra had handed Gray over to Vivian, Jason could only imagine the things he was going through. He hoped that Gray would be able to withstand it and that someday, he might be truly free.

And then, he thought about the other day, when he had snapped at Connie when she was just trying to help him, and guilt slammed into him again. He didn't know how she put up with him. It had been a week since the airport, and these out-of-control feelings were not going away. At least he hadn't hurt anyone physically again, but that was small comfort. He did not even feel like himself; he felt like a different person, someone he would have despised if he had known him long ago.

Jason dreaded sleep, but he hated these thoughts; he wondered if he should just get up. The clock said 3:30; entirely too early. He needed sleep or nightmares would invade the daylight.

He lay back, closed his eyes, and thought of a peaceful scene by the ocean. This tactic did not always work, but this time his heartbeat slowed and slumber rolled over him like a gentle wave. Soon he was basking in the pleasant darkness of sleep without pain or dreams.

* * *

Connie handed two kids their milk shakes, and walked back to the counter. Everything was back to normal; she was back at work, Whit's End didn't look like it had ever been attacked by a bomb, and Jason was home for good. She should be happy.

And yet—She leaned against the counter. Sadness tugged at her heart. She hadn't seen Jason in three—no, four days now. And she hadn't talked to him since later that day, in which he'd apologized over the phone, and sounded so ashamed that she couldn't help but stop being mad at him for what he'd said to her. It hadn't been that bad; it had just hurt, coming from Jason. After she told him she'd forgiven him, he'd made some excuse to hang up.

He needed his space, she knew; that was what had started all this. "Quit smothering me!" he'd said. "Why don't you just leave me alone for once?" And so she had slammed the door and given him all the space that he wanted. But was four days long enough? How could she know? She hated the fact that she wasn't just considering his wellbeing, but hers; she didn't want him to talk to her like that again. It scared her. She'd said she'd stick by him, but sometimes it was hard, especially when he didn't seem like her Jason, but someone else she didn't know.

But now—there was this underlying feeling that something might be wrong. Was she just imagining the feeling to justify a visit to him? What if something really was wrong? What if he was being kidnapped again and—

No, that was irrational. But then, how could you be sure? She had an idea of what he had to deal with; sometimes this fear would grip her out of nowhere, like being afraid to walk into Whit's End the first day back. It was nothing compared to what he was experiencing, however. She'd just have to be understanding and…maybe she'd call him after work, or go over and see if he was all right.

"Connie?"

She jumped. Yes, she_ was_ jumpy. "Whit!" She turned around to face him.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. What do you think? Do you think…I should I go see Jason?"

"After what happened the other day?"

She nodded. "I'm not sure if he'd want to see me."

Whit looked at her for a moment. Then he said, "I think he does want to see you. He said as much. He's just ashamed because of what he said to you."

"I'm not really sure if I should let him have more time, or if I should go over and see if he needs me…What should I do?"

"Well, I think you would know better than I do. But I would guess that he wants to see you as much as you want to see him."

"Maybe he still doesn't want to be bothered. Maybe I should wait until he calls."

"On the other hand, sometimes the best thing for someone is not what they think they want."

"Do you want to go with me? He'd probably rather see you."

"He hasn't seen me in four days, either."

"He hasn't?"

Whit shook his head. "I've been giving him space too. It's not your fault, Connie. When you went to the airport and brought him back, you knew it wouldn't just end happily ever after. With what Jason's been through, it'll be an uphill battle. It's not his fault, either…some things are going to slip through the cracks of his resolve not to hurt anyone. Part of the reason he said that to you was that he doesn't_ want_ to need help. And part of it is that he's afraid of losing control, because he's always been strong, and he doesn't like to show weakness. We're going to have to be very patient with him."

"I know. I love him—he's worth it." She blushed. This was his father she was talking to—but it was also Whit. She could trust him with anything. "But…I'm kind of…afraid of seeing him. I don't know what he'll say and I hate feeling this way because I want to help him—but how much help does he need? How am I supposed to know the difference between what he needs and what he wants? And…how am I supposed to have the courage to act on it?"

Whit sighed. "Those are tough questions. You know Someone who can help you with those."

"Yeah. Whit, will you pray with me?"

"Of course I will."

It was quiet in Whit's End at the moment, and they bowed their heads right next to the counter and prayed, for Jason, for herself. More than anything, she wanted things to get back to normal, for this shadow to flee as if it had never been. But she knew that was not realistic; so she had to ask God for the courage to face whatever happened next. Because, no matter what, she was not giving up on the man she loved. He was worth every tear, every heartache. _Dear God_, she prayed silently, _please give us some laughter to balance out the tears…_

When they finished praying, because a kid appeared and asked for a sundae, Connie knew what she had to do. "I'm going to see him, Whit," she said.

"I'll come with you when I close up shop."

"No, this is something I have to do on my own."

Whit nodded and, in the next lull, he let her off of work early, and she sped over to Jason's house, heart thudding with dread and longing and anticipation.

* * *

Jason sat in his chair, reading. But, he realized, he wasn't really reading; he couldn't recall the last few paragraphs. _Oh, great_, he thought, _now I'll have to go back and read it over again_. But he didn't even feel like doing that much, so he set the book face-down on the arm of the chair.

What he really wanted to do was go out for a run. But if at all possible, he was going to stay inside this room for the foreseeable future. Because every time he stepped outside the door, he ended up either getting hurt or hurting someone.

No, best to stay inside. Even if it made him go crazy.

He dragged his weights from under the couch and started working off his excess energy. He did some pushups and then sat back against the base of the couch, energy faded along with his motivation. His strength was far from what it used to be, but he also wondered, what was the point? Where did physical strength get you anyway? There was always a way for someone to break it, beat it down. He might as well waste away here, collapse into a shadow of his former self. There was nothing to hang onto anymore. No reason to do anything but try to stay out of everyone's way.

A knock at the door. He was tempted to ignore it, but then he thought, _what if it's Connie? I can't imagine why she'd want to see me, but if she does, I still can't…..face her after what I said._

The knock became more insistent. He got to his feet and looked through the door window.

His heart leapt. It was her.

He unlocked both of the locks, and she stepped in, as beautiful as ever, her face rather somber. "Jason."

"Connie—I'm sorry."

. "I'm just wondering, is this enough space, or do you want more? If you want me to leave, I will."

No, he didn't want her to leave. He wanted desperately to grab her hand, pull her to him—

He cleared his throat. Trying to hold back his true feelings, he said, "Maybe it's not the best time…."

Hurt shot through her eyes. But she said, "Okay. I'll see you later, Jason." She turned to leave.

"Connie—"

"Yes?"

"Please, don't leave."

She turned back. Tears shimmered in her eyes. She reached for him, hesitated; he took her hand and they embraced, her cheek leaning warm against his chest.

After a moment, she pulled back. "Actually, I think I will go somewhere. But I'll take you with me, if you want."

He stopped short; the fear gripped him again. "I don't know—"

"It'll be fun! Get whatever things you have, and let's go have an adventure."

"I can't."

"Well, we don't have to do anything hard. We could just drive somewhere and stop for a little while and—"

"It's not that. I can't leave."

She crossed her arms, a concerned look on her face. "What do you mean?"

"It's just—I don't think I should go anywhere. Not until I'm fully recovered." He turned away, ashamed to let her see the fear in his eyes.

"This will help you recover. Come on, Jason." Her eyes sparkled. Then a shadow fell over them. "But I'm being pushy again. I'm sorry."

He couldn't bear that look in her eyes. With her standing there, it was hard for him to remember the reasons to stay in hiding.

"No, Connie, that's okay. I want to come."

Her face brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah." He gave her a smile; her smile broadened. He stepped out into the hallway. It was fine until he reached the outer door, and then he began to have second thoughts. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

She grasped his hand. "If you want to go back, you can. But you'll be missing out. I know it's not safe out there. Something could happen at any moment. We're in God's hands though, no matter what."

"I know. I_ know_ it, but I can't seem to….overcome this."

"It's been so hard for you." Her fingers caressed his hand, brushing the scars. "But this is not who you are. There's so much more to you, and to us, and to the world, and –let's go discover it, together."

"When you put it that way…."

He let her guide him out into the bright afternoon sunlight. The fear melted into the shadows and even the fear of what he had become withered, with her strength beside him.

He followed her to the car and they drove out into the country. On Forrest Mountain, they walked on a path that turned into a barely-defined trail. Then they ended up taking a 'shortcut' and had to climb up some rocks, but were rewarded by bushes laden with large blackberries at the top. A little higher, they discovered a beautiful view, looking out on Trickle Lake.

Like the view from the Shed. It was probably nearby.

The darkness slammed back into him, almost hurling him physically to the ground. Pain sparked across his skin, even the old injuries on his back and in his hand, the gunshot wound bursting with dark agony. All strength drained from him, he fell to his knees on the rocks. Everything faded, even Connie, as the trauma of the past caught up with him, nightmares emerging into daylight.

A touch like a shock on his arm. He flinched back; Connie gasped with fear, pulling away from him.

_No,_ he thought. _I will not go _there _again. I will not let the darkness overtake me, ruin everything that's good. It's the good that matters, after all, in the end. _This_ matters_. He grasped Connie's hand and stood, forcing back the darkness, determined not to forget its lessons, but also not to let it control and crush his life.

He drew her closer; she leaned against his side, fitting perfectly there beneath his arm, and his fingers caressed her face. He kissed her temple; she laughed. And they stood looking out over the valley, embracing the past, present, and future, together.


End file.
